


Death Talk

by Elle_Smith



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 08:12:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6110481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elle_Smith/pseuds/Elle_Smith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t that he <i>waited</i> for a new post to come up every night; he just happened to be working on the computer when it did. And a good thing too, because...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death Talk

**Author's Note:**

> For [mediumrarefallingcow](http://mediumrarefallingcow.tumblr.com/) \- [winner of my 100 Followers Giveaway](http://gundamwing-ellesmith.tumblr.com/post/139852667719/and-the-winner-of-my-100-followers-giveaway) \- who asked to see a story where “Duo has his own YouTube channel” or where “Heero is a professional hacker”. This might not be exactly what you had in mind (you probably fancied Duo uploading these crazy Jackass-like videos?). My mind is known to be a very dark place. Can’t help it, sorry. I hope you’ll approve. ^^;
> 
> On a side note, I must confess that I had to “play dirty” in order to find the time to write this: since I’m currently filling two positions at work (temporarily), I had a perfect excuse to pull a few extra hours (getting paid extra), so I asked my mom to watch over the girls, stayed behind after everyone left at the end of the day and just WROTE until it was dark outside and my eyes hurt from staring at the computer for so long. It was heaven! No one was at the office so late into the evening and I had some peace and quiet that I can NEVER get at home. Plus, I got PAID! Haha! I think I’m onto something here. Shhh…. this is our little secret. ^_~
> 
> And hey! Technically, if I get paid for writing fan fiction, can I call myself a professional author? :-P
> 
> Elle.
> 
> \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
>  
> 
> **Inspired by[this](http://elcomics.tumblr.com/post/138514380764/midnight-radio-written-by-ehud-lavski-art-by) comic-strip and [this]() song (recommended for listening while reading...)**

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/130931047@N06/24640657974/in/dateposted-public/)

A new video-blog entry went up every night - 23:59 sharp. It wasn’t that he _waited_ for a new post to come up every night; he just happened to be working on the computer when it did. His job required working at odd hours and it was more often than not that his “workday” began in or at around midnight, simply because that was the most suitable time to perform the duties he was required to do as an Ethical Hacker who protected various computer systems from dangerous intrusions.

His job was to solve problems and prevent malicious hackers from causing damage to major network systems. Businesses and government-related organizations that were, naturally, extremely serious about their network security, hired people like him to help probe and improve their networks, applications, and other computer systems with the ultimate goal of preventing data theft and fraud. Some used the term “White Hat Hacker”, or a “Penetration Tester”, both of which he did not approve, preferring the term “Certified Network Defense Architect” (CNDA), or “Certified Ethical Hacker” (CEH) - which he was; ironically, simply because he had hacked into the EC-Council database (but for what it’s worth, he hasn’t strayed since). The job required strong work ethics, exceptional problem-solving skills, and high motivation and dedication - all qualities in which he excelled. A few years back, when he was looking for a way to rebuild his life from scratch, becoming a CEH seemed like the most proper course to take after years spent losing his youth on the battlefield.

Most Ethical Hackers had to also rely on street-smarts, sharp people skills, and even a degree of social manipulation, since at times they had to be able to persuade others to disclose credentials, restart or shutdown systems, execute files, or otherwise knowingly or unknowingly help them achieve their ultimate goal. He never bothered developing these soft-skills, which was why he preferred to work alone at night, when no one was around and he could do as he pleased in order to get the job done.

Legal hacking might not get him the same adrenaline rush that one might get with underground hacking (something he had practiced often in his youth), but he could earn a good and honest living while doing something he enjoyed. It was a far better career choice than his main expertise as a terrorist/assassin/fighter-pilot. He had sworn off killing the day the war ended close to six years ago, leaving himself only one clear path to pursue in adulthood - his passion and skills for hacking. Heero Yuy was done fighting people on the battlefield. Nowadays, his fight was in the virtual realm, where vanquishing his enemies never required any bloodshed.

He worked alone, at night, seated in front of his laptop in one secure data/server room or another. He usually wore a hoodie over his head, because such rooms were always kept in uncomfortably low temperatures, and almost always had his earphones on while he worked. Although Heero had never developed any fondness towards music in his youth, working on a computer into the wee hours of the night, sitting in a dark cold room bathed in the depressing light of a glowing screen, he had soon found that listening to slow and quiet music, often without lyrics, helped him keep his focus. He used his own laptop - a customized state-of-the-art piece of machinery no company or government agency could ever hope to match - when working on the different computer systems he was paid to check and secure. He had a large variety of songs from which to choose his playlists, but lately he had been neglecting his music selections for the sake of this video-blog he had found by accident.

He was looking for a particular song he had heard on the radio on the way to work - a melancholic song of the modern harmonic rock genera that touched his heart in a most uncomfortable way. It was a beautiful, haunting and mesmerizing song about seeking redemption in death but remaining cursed with life. It was something he had never heard before. When it ended, he turned off the radio, seeking silence, for he didn’t wish to spoil the feeling currently dwelling in his heart with another song. He wanted to hear it again, so he had spent the first hour of his _“workday”_ searching for it online. He figured it must have belonged to some kind of fringe band, because it was hard to find. Finally, after digging under every virtual rock he could think of lifting and using every online tool available to find the source of the music haunting his mind, he had found a trace of the song - about 15 seconds of its instrumental version were used as the opening theme of some peculiar video blog. He started watching because of the song, but kept on watching because of the vlog, fascinated by what he saw.

The vlog belonged to a young man, or so Heero presumed, because the person in question hid his face in shadows, wore a hood to obscure his head and masked his voice slightly using a voice-synthesizer, thus remaining completely anonymous; which was in itself fascinating. But what had really drawn Heero in, were the things this mysterious person had to say. The vlog was some kind of self-therapy, it seemed, because all this young man ever did was sit in front of the camera, hidden under his hoodie, and talk. There was the occasional rant about pop culture or politics, but most of the time the hooded young man talked about his life, about his past and about his problems; remaining just the right amount of vague and avoiding any specifics so his identity won't be compromised. Heero had never felt such a strong relation to someone as he did when listening to this tortured young man talk about his thoughts and feelings.

He presumed that the man was some kind of _“starving artist”_ , because there was always art in the background, and Heero could only assume that the vlog was filmed in some kind of art studio. The young man’s chair was always seated in front of different works in progress - dark and messy Street Art drawn on canvas. Since he used a small projector to hide his face in shadows, the art was the brightest feature on the screen, albeit surpassed by the prominent black-hooded figure in the foreground.

Each vlog entry was about one hour long. Heero listened to a few months’ worth in less than a week, drinking the young man’s tales of despair, loneliness and self-abhor with a thirst akin to nothing he had ever felt before. For nights on end he sat accompanied by the man’s synthesized yet clearly baritone voice, allowing it to engulf his very soul as he listened to intimate confessions being whispered in his ears like a lover’s distant musings in the dead of the night.

He felt for the young man, called “DeathTalk” by his screen-name. DeathTalk was also a veteran. He never said on whose side he had fought, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Heero understood, all too well at times, because he had been there himself. He felt his life mirrored in the stories DeathTalk told about his pre and post war life: PTSD, suicidal ideations and all the other _“joys”_ that came with surviving unspeakable trauma.

DeathTalk gave voice to things Heero didn’t dare confess even in the safety of his own mind, whether how hard it was to cope with his past - with conscience, guilt and self-loathing, how difficult it was to deal with the trials and tribulations of everyday civilian life, or what a struggle it’s been to come to terms with the fact that - on top of everything - he also suspected that he was attracted to men, but was too afraid to try and verify this suspicion or act on it. DeathTalk too was a closeted homosexual, and for some reason it made Heero feel a little better about it. He wasn’t alone.

As the weeks went by, he had developed a strangely deep connection to this anonymous young man speaking his darkest and most painful secrets so openly to whoever was willing to listen. And people listened. DeathTalk had over half a million views for each post, and thousands of subscribers following him. Some of them left comments - mostly encouragements or words of sympathy. At times Heero felt envious of such kindness, though he never did dare comment himself. It wasn’t that he was afraid of the exposure - he had many aliases he could use online - but rather it felt too _intimate_ to respond, to reach out to this man who was so much like him.

He found it difficult to explain, but he felt so close to this man, that leaving him a message felt about as daunting as picking a guy up at a bar. Even though Heero had no reason to fear this man’s rejection, he still couldn’t bring himself to participate in the simple act of comforting him with mere written words. In part, maybe because he felt a pain far too similar to what DeathTalk was expressing in his vlog entries, and perhaps in part because he feared reaching out to someone who had touched his heart so deeply.

However, when DeathTalk’s latest vlog entry was posted at 23:59 that night while Heero was hard at work, he could no longer remain indifferent, because that night was when DeathTalk declared serious intentions to end his own life.

 _“Enough,”_ he had said, sighing helplessly. _“What’s the fucking point?”_ He then added bitterly and Heero felt a painful pinch in his heart. He stopped what he was doing and switched his browser tabs to show the video playing. Usually he would just listen to DeathTalk’s voice, letting it embrace his mind, his _soul_ , through his earphones, but this last part turned on a red warning light and he switched back to the window showing the video. He stared wretchedly at the image playing on the screen. DeathTalk was sitting hunched forward wearily, holding his head against his hand. There was an empty liquor bottle at the foot of his chair; an image of pure despair:

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/130931047@N06/25153023882/in/dateposted-public/)

A deafening silence pounded in Heero’s ears while DeathTalk remained seated still. He waited anxiously for the man to resume speaking, hoping he would take it all back with a sheepish little chuckle as he had done so many other times before. But no. DeathTalk was dead quiet, leaning defeatedly against his leg with one elbow. Finally, he heaved another lengthy sigh, got up and went to turn off the camera.

The movie went black, then ended, and Heero’s heart nearly dropped to the floor.

Alarmed, he hurried to skim through the comments section. Everyone was worried, assuming the worse. Some were already mourning.

He had to do something. He had to help him!

Putting his exceptional hacking skills into good use, Heero hacked his way through the blog-server’s systems until he found the IP from which the video had originated. It wasn’t a simple task, because whoever DeathTalk was, he knew his stuff and he had concealed the true origin of his IP address. The guy was good, but not as good as Heero. It took him a couple of hours, but eventually he managed to pinpoint DeathTalk’s location - halfway across the country: New York City.

He contacted the nearest NYC police station, alerted them of a possible suicide attempt in their precinct and hurried to the airport. He didn’t think, he just did. Driven by an irresistible urge to see this thing through, to save this man no matter what it takes, Heero boarded the first flight headed to NYC. Only when he was finally seated on the plane did he start questioning his rash decision, but by then it was already too late. He wasn’t about to turn back now.

Several hours later Heero was standing in front of the reception desk inside a busy Manhattan ER. He had hacked local police transmissions and knew that an attempted-suicide survivor was brought to this hospital earlier that night. Anxious, he approached the nurse sitting behind the desk. When she looked up in question, he pulled back his hoodie, revealing his messy brown hair and sleep-deprived face. He must have appeared pale and alarmed, because the young nurse’s face soon took on a sympathetic expression and she spoke softly as she offered her assistance. He lied, telling her that he had been informed that his friend was brought in here after an attempt to end his own life.

She nodded, knowing who he was talking about, and gave him a room number. A sad smile tugged at her lips as she confessed that she was relieved to see that the person in question was not alone. Apparently, it was not his first suicide attempt, and this was the first time anyone has ever bothered checking up on him. Heero felt sick, not as much as feeling terrible for the young man, but because he knew that if the things were the other way around, he would be in the same miserable position: no one would care.

The nurse showed him to DeathTalk’s room, leaving him to enter on his own. He hesitated, unsure of what he should do once he walked through the door. A part of him wished for DeathTalk to be unconscious, but then again, another part of him wished he was awake. What would be the point otherwise? He was here to show DeathTalk that someone out there cared. With that thought in mind, Heero opened the door and stepped into the room.

He heard a breath being sucked-in sharply in surprise even before he turned away from the door to face the bed. Slowly, he turned. A young man was sitting there, leaning against the pillow and gawking at him with wide cobalt-blue eyes. His gaunt features were pale; evidence of severe blood-loss, supported by the blood transfusion connected to the young man’s brittle and bandaged arm. Heero stared at the ashen features, rooted to his spot by the door; paralyzed by a dawning realization: he knew this man. Not just because of the vlog he had been following adamantly these past few months; not because he could identify with him wholly, heart and soul; but because he _knew him_ , personally. Perhaps, deep down, a part of him knew that he had known this all along. Perhaps that was why he felt such a strong connection to this tormented soul. DeathTalk was no other than Duo Maxwell - his former comrade and the first and only person to have ever come close to being regarded as his friend.

He stared numbly at the young man lying on the hospital bed, struggling to come to terms with the ramifications of what he now felt. His heart pounded loudly in his chest and a lump had lodged itself in his throat. He was… nervous.

“H-Heero?” Duo whispered uncertainly, raising his bandaged hand to push a few long bangs out of his eyes as he stared at Heero in disbelief. “It was... you?” He asked feebly, and his soulful blue eyes seemed to be begging him to confirm.

“Yes,” he replied firmly, at last stepping away from door. He sadly noted that the once lush chestnut braid that had once been Duo’s trademark was now gone. His hair was still rather long, but it was gathered into a short ponytail reaching just below his bony shoulder blades. His figure was unhealthily thin, his cheeks hollow, black stains around his red-rimmed eyes and his brittle fingers sickly bony. On his vlog, he had often spoke about his struggle against a drug addiction, about painful relapses and the terrible effect it all had on his health. The physical evidence was never visible under his shadowy hoodie, but now it was painfully obvious. It broke Heero’s heart.

Unable to stop himself, he reached for Duo’s frail hand and held it gently.

Duo blinked, confused, and stared up at him dully. “W-why?” He mumbled, his voice small, doubtful.

“Because you needed help,” Heero told him, speaking quietly.

“You knew it was me?” Duo marveled.

“No,”  he admitted, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. “But that doesn’t change anything.”

“Why?” Duo frowned and Heero offered him a sad little smile.

“Because when death talks... I listen.”

And Duo smiled back, just a little.

 

**THE END.**

**Click[here](https://www.youtube.com/embed/35RqzSR5Who) for the ending song...**

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I know this story could be summarized in one word: “Duh!”, but there’s much to be said for reading a predictable story with an obvious ending. Personally, I think it’s fun and cathartic. I considered making a surprise ending where all of your assumptions turn out to be false, but I decided against it. I hate it when someone does it to me - robbing me of the happy ending I was expecting - so why do it to others?
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this little 1x2 tale.
> 
> Elle.


End file.
